He quickly scanned me from top to bottom and, apparently not noticing anything alarming, moved toward me. Viola's chair scraped loudly as she suddenly stood up. Of course, if Viola was ready to defend her newly made friend in verbal squabbles, what could I expect when her boyfriend decided to get dangerously close to an enemy? It was one thing when we were in the forest without prying eyes, another to stick together in a dining hall full of mortals. Yesterday, the guys had acted differently, especially Arthur. It must be that Stas had given them a good talking-to, because today they all seemed to be keeping their distance. Surprisingly, it seemed like the others were listening to Stas more willingly than to Vladimir these days.
Still, Viola didn't rush to stand between me and Arthur. Staying by the table, she seemed to come to her senses and realized how strange her reaction might look to the mortal eye, but quickly played it off as if something had bitten her leg.
I felt uncomfortable with all the fuss—it was another reminder of the danger I posed. I felt like a rabid dog that no one should come near, and it hurt.
I held my breath as Arthur came within arm's reach. Just in case. He quickly placed a book in my hand and stepped back two steps. Confused, I turned the hefty volume over in my hands.
"Um, what's this?"
"Stas asked me to return it," Arthur replied, and I noticed how sharply Tatyana turned and stared at me. That was the last thing I needed.
"Return it? But I didn't give him anything," I looked at the cover and tried to read the title, but it was missing. "This isn't my book. Stas made a mistake."
I started to approach Arthur to hand him the heavy tome, but I accidentally took a breath. Why? Why did they smell so irresistibly appealing to me? I tightened my grip on the book, trying to control myself. The cold smoothness of the cover helped me focus.
This was my chance to prove to Viola and Arthur that I could keep my composure. Wanting to finish this quickly and return to my room, I tried to hand the book back to Arthur, but he raised his hands, stopping me.
"I don't know anything. All questions go to the sender, not the courier," the big guy said with a sly smile, backing away until the distance between us grew enough that I couldn't attack Arthur from behind. At least, that's what it seemed like—he was probably calculating the safe distance, though I might have been exaggerating, getting more and more tangled in the endless maze of self-control.
"So, you and Stas are still in touch?" Tatyana propped her chin up with her fist, and despite her friendly tone, I could have sworn she'd be more than happy to tear me apart.
"No," I cut her off, "we're not in touch. And it's none of your business."
I left the hall, clutching the book to my chest, before Rostova could respond. I didn't want to give Tatyana the chance to stir up another argument out of nothing during the holidays. I planned to fully enjoy my stay at her father's spa complex—take a break from the crazy training schedule with Kostya, relax my muscles, and eat some good food. Ideally, I wanted to lie flat on the huge bed in the room, bury my face in the soft pillow, and sleep for the next six months. Now, the list of what I needed for happiness had narrowed down to very simple things. I didn't even think about the upcoming ball: life had taught me that the more you look forward to something, the less likely it is to happen. I had sworn off even imagining how the ball would go, even though I did have a dress with me.
Finally, reaching my room on the third floor, I pulled the keycard from my back pocket and pressed it to the lock. The detector flashed green and beeped, and the door immediately gave way. Nothing had changed in the room since I'd woken up: the unpacked suitcase was still by the window, and the bed was a mess. I placed the keycard and the book on the chest of drawers by the door and decided to start with the small things. Grabbing the duvet by both ends, I shook it well, then spread it on the bed and smoothed out the wrinkles with my palms. Next, I unfolded the bedspread I had folded at the foot of the bed before sleep. The final touch—small colorful pillows were returned to the headboard. How simple. I wished it were as easy to sort out my life.
The suitcase took some effort. Opening the wardrobe doors, I looked at the number of hangers with disappointment and realized that most of my clothes would have to go into the drawers of the chest of drawers. For each day, I had packed a bit of basic clothing with simple cuts that could be easily combined to look fresh and sleek. The lion's share of space in my suitcase was taken up by sportswear. I had even brought two pairs of sneakers: one for running, the other for weight training in the gym. My environmental habits had taken a backseat when I realized how important it was to have the right clothes and shoes for sports. One set simply wasn't enough.
Although my father had promised not to push me during the holidays, there was now a minimum amount of activity in my schedule. Without workouts, I turned into a bundle of nerves, snapping at anything. I didn't like being like that.
I would have never thought I could enjoy running, or even sports in general. As long as I could remember, I'd always been clumsy and tried to avoid joining team sports during PE classes, starting in elementary school. My pathetic attempts to control my own body only frustrated me, so in my previous school, I'd grab any opportunity to skip class and, say, drink tea and discuss books with the literature teacher and other classmates. For some reason, it was always the girls who wanted to skip PE.
The one thing I was always good at was riding a bicycle. When I moved to Kserton, Kostya got me a decent model as a gift: with the fairly wide tires, my "steed" handled the muddy rain-soaked forest paths and soft winter snow cover really well. However, by the end of March, when the snowy blanket began to melt, it turned out that when it melts during the day and freezes at night, the road becomes like uneven glass that might crack at any moment, with sharp shards eager to sink into the tires, creating dangerous moments during the ride to eventually reach its rider.
Simply put, although I did try for a while to avoid running, seeking refuge in my usual bike rides, my "steed" didn't fare well with the late winter, and I didn't succeed. I managed to convince Kostya to splurge and order larger wheels, rubber, and fenders to match the new diameter. Thankfully, my father didn't impulsively pay for the basket online: after a little while, I took the necessary measurements and calculations and realized that I couldn't fit the new wheels into the old frame — it simply wasn't made for a larger diameter. After facing failure, I was tempted to assemble a second bike, but reason won the out. What would I need another one for? To only ride it out of the house two or three months a year?